


Touch-Starved

by Moonlit_Mirage



Category: Descendants (Disney Movies)
Genre: F/M, Femdom, Hair-pulling, Light Dom/sub, Movie: Descendants 2, Post-Descendants 2, Sloppy Makeouts, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 04:33:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16151678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlit_Mirage/pseuds/Moonlit_Mirage
Summary: You're part of Uma's crew, but as the more motherly one of you and her, you take care of the boys in ways she doesn't- like cutting hair. When Harry finally allows you to cut his hair, his reactions are a little different than the other crew members...





	Touch-Starved

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't specify who's parents the reader belongs to so you can read it without feeling as forced into a roll. The reader is female though. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Warnings: cursing, sexual implications, Harry is a submissive mess

Being part of Uma's crew had its perks. 

Surrounded by water? Check. Surrounded by swords and weapons? Check. Surrounded by hot guys 24/7? 

Check. 

Where Uma was a strict mother to them, you made up for with kindness- something rare many didn’t exhibit on the Isle. You both took care of the boys in your own way, and one of your ways was grooming. 

The boys were going to smell bad, but some days were worse than others and it was all you could manage to force them in the shower, ignoring the “only if you join me” remarks. At least Gil didn't fight much. He just whined like a child. 

_ “But I don't like being wet!” _

_ “Gil, you are surrounded by  _ water _ , are you kidding me?” _

Sometimes their clothes were ripped in unintentional ways. If they looked tacky, you sewed it up. Sometimes you just washed their clothes. If they wore the same shirt for the third day in a row, someone had to do  _ something _ . 

You had to take care of these boys because they barely knew how to do it themselves. 

Occasionally, you even forced them to sit down for haircuts. 

While some of them liked their hair long, trims were always necessary. A few of them didn't mind. 

But who better than to make get a haircut than the one who's name implied that his bangs would forever be in his crystal blue eyes?

Harry Hook was a difficult one to get to do anything he didn't want to do. You struggled with him, as he tried to ignore your orders with flirting or craziness- or both. As one of the primary ones who asked you to join him in the shower, and even say “I'd rather you tear off me clothes, sweetheart” when you insisted on fixing one of his vests, he was...one you tried to actively avoid interacting with. His flirtatious behavior paired with his pretty eyes and strong jawline and incredibly buff arms were overwhelming, and you were tired of how hot your body felt every time he touched you. Or looked at you. Or existed in the same room as you.

But today, you had to face the music. In the cafe, Harry struggled to eat, his bangs falling in his face over and over again. His hat wasn't around today- which usually held his messy locks in place. After the third time of his hair falling into the food he tried to cram in his mouth, you came to his aid and pulled his bangs back from his face- which, if he hadn't seen it was you any sooner, you would have been hooked for.

“What are ye doin’?”

You pushed your fingers through his thick brown hair, pulling his bangs away from his face along the way. Both his eyes were on display, and they board into yours. You couldn't help but notice the way they looked at you- were his eyes darker? Or was that the smudged eyeliner’s fault? 

“You need a haircut.” You struggled to find words as your brain distracted you by sending images of doing other things to Harry, but with your lips. 

Maybe you cared about him a little more than the other boys. 

Harry allowed you to card your fingers through his hair again before he yanked away from you, bangs dropping and covering his left eye. “No I don't. I like me hair in me eyes.” And with that, he stood with his food and stomped away. 

You didn't press the matter further, actually. Uma did, after a few days later, Harry missed hooking someone during sparring and got nicked himself. After arguing back and forth for a solid minute, Uma had enough. 

“Harry, you better let her give you a haircut or so help me-”

Harry was finishing wrapping his small wound when he cut her off. “Fine! I'll let her fuck me hair up.” His eyes found yours in the crowd of pirates. “C'mon, lass.” Your brain was stuck on the words “fuck me.”

You put your partner with the one who nicked Harry and followed him into the sleeping quarters, where you slid past him to lead him to yours. Your heart thumped wildly in your chest. You were leading Harry to your room. And sure, it was for a haircut, but…

You entered your organized mess of a room, where you ordered him to sit in your rolling chair- the one with most of the back left. You headed to your bathroom to get the scissors and spray bottle as he grumbled obscenities.

You cleared your throat, standing in front of him. He looked up at you with dark eyes and plump lips and everything in you screamed to straddle his lap and have your way with him.

But. He liked Uma. At least, you thought. Even if he didn't, better not. You didn't want to get on Ursula's daughter's bad side. 

You pushed his bangs from his eyes again, breathing labored. “Just gonna trim it to where it's out of your face. I'll keep your bangs.” To emphasize, you snipped your scissors twice. 

It felt like you were cutting tension. Harry stared up at you almost hungrily as you pushed your fingers through his locks. You dropped his hair in his face and grabbed the water bottle from the bed where you had laid it down. Then, you gathered up his thick, messy hair into your hand again-- and the bastard leaned into your touch with a quiet hum. You tried not to let your hands give away your trembling. 

You sprayed his bangs, laughing when his flinched at you “accidentally” spraying his forehead. The water ran down his face in streams, along his jawline. You craved to lick it off. 

“You're supposed to wet me hair, not me.” Harry didn't sound as annoyed as he should have been. You smiled sheepishly and muttered an apology before putting the bottle down and dropping his way bangs in his face. Another laugh escaped you at his annoyed expression. 

“Stay still,” you advised with a whisper, and using both hands, you cut about two inches off of his bangs. He watched in the full body mirror you had leaned against the wall. You made sure his bangs only barely fell into his left eye, knowing that when it was dry his hair would curl a bit. You've looked at him long enough over months and months to know what they would do. And he didn't protest, so you guessed you did a well-enough job. 

With his hair wet, you went ahead and went around his entire hair, trimming and fluffing it up. You made the back short and kept the front longer, his bangs just lengthy enough to brush his eyelashes when they began to dry.

Harry stayed amazingly quiet throughout the entire process, head moving willingly under your hands. His breathing even, if it weren't for occasional hums (of pleasure?), you would have assumed he had fallen asleep. Glances in the mirror showed his eyes had fallen closed. 

“What would you do without me?” You jokingly asked, done with the scissors but wanting to continue to play with his hair, fluffing it and running your fingers along his scalp. You just needed to eliminate the thick silence that had fallen over you both like a fog.

Harry hummed again, his lips pulled into a smirk, given away but not only his reflection but his tone. “I would do it me self.”

“It would look terrible.” You laughed, still rubbing his head. He didn't seem to mind, almost desperately leaning into your fingers. 

Harry just laughed quietly. You fluffed up his hair one last and final time, and before things got too weird, you pulled your fingers away.

His hand, his bare one that wasn't holding the hook, caught yours as it pulled away, grasping it for dear life. You must have looked scared, because after meeting his eyes in the mirror, he dropped it. 

You got the picture, though. With a smile, you started playing with his hair again. “You like this, don’t you.” Your question dripped off your lips like honey- it was more like a statement. A flirtatious remark. 

“Yes,” Harry practically purred. He was like a cat, loving and arching into every pet. You wondered if he got this attention from Uma- he couldn't have, if he seemed so...starved for it. You briefly remember a similar hungry reaction he gave one time when she had tugged on his hair- but that didn't last long. Harry stared at her like she was water and he had been lost in the desert-- for the rest of the day, even.

You would kill for Harry to look at you like that. In fact, you would do anything be wanted you to. So, you kept playing with his thick locks.

Harry said your name, then. His voice was thick with contentment and...something else, and his eyes were darker than you had ever seen them. The way that he looked at you through the mirror sent your stomach tumbling and heat through your body. 

“Y-yeah?” 

He was up in an instant, staring you down with eyes more intense than the mirror had portrayed. His pupils were dilated and his hair was thoroughly mussed and suddenly the backs of your knees were against the bed frame and he was pressing against you and--

That bastard smirked. His lips stretched wide, revealing his white teeth. Your heart was beating so erratically you were sure he could hear it threatening to burst out of your chest. 

“You're shakin’, sweetheart.” 

But you stood your ground, even though your knees were weak 

“Like you just weren't for half an hour.”

His cocky smirk dropped, his attempt to re-establish dominance failing. He raised his hands in surrender. 

“What can I say?” He plopped back into the chair. “I like it when you touch me.” He was more desperate than you had ever seen him-- even when someone had his hook with the intent on dropping it overboard. 

A surge of pride rushed through you-- and lust. You channeled your own heart-stopping smirk and placed your body between his spread legs, gently tugging his hair back to get him to look up at you. 

He gasped, biting his bottom lip. “Aye, easy now.”

“Harry Hook, submissive under the least dominant one on this ship. The crew would pay to see this.” You couldn't believe the words you were saying were your own. Where had your confidence come from?

“N' you get a front row seat for free.” He glanced down at his open lap. 

A beat of silence and unbreathable tension passed.

Then, you were straddling him, barely having a height advantage anymore but still remaining dominant as you for forcibly angled his mouth to yours, his hair like reigns. 

“Fuck,” he cursed, before allowing you to crush your lips against his. 

His hands-- both of them, you weren't sure where the hook had ended up-- grasped at your back and waist and butt, as if he couldn't decide where to pull you flush to him. You made sure there wasn't an inch of space between you. He groaned into your mouth as you both fought for dominance, teeth clashing and lips already tender from nipping. You never thought you would ever win that kind of battle against him, but all you had to do was touch him and he melted over and over again. His scalp, his jaw,  _ his arms-- _ whatever you placed the pads of your fingers on, he submitted to immediately. Moaning and gasping and groaning into your mouth, you knew for a fact that he was very much touch-starved. 

It wasn't uncommon for kids of the Isle to be. It just presented itself in different ways. But you would have never thought Harry Hook, first mate to Uma, the most badass male of the Isle, would tremble under the slightest touch from you. 

You broke the kiss to take in his red, swollen lips and flushed face and sex hair and blown pupils-  _ you _ had done that to him. And you wanted to do more. 

The jaw that was sharper than a sword. You wanted to taste it.

So you did.

Salty. You expected that, but his jawline felt so perfect under your lips. Your lips were going to feel burned from his stubble for days, but his reactions to you were too worth it, the noises ripped from his throat ones you would never be able to get out of your head. As you sucked on his pulse point, though, the friction started, and as  _ amazing  _ as that felt, you knew you both needed to stop. 

You pulled off with a pop, Harry groaning in frustration as you were up from his lap immediately. He reached for you, but you stepped out of the way, blood fleeing from south to north as your confidence faded away. 

He already had a bruise forming.  _ You  _ did that. To  _ him. _

Harry cleared his throat. He stood, adjusting his clothes, namely his pants, and glanced at you with a flushed face. He sauntered up to you, and you thought that it was going to start all over. But then you felt the cold metal of his hook sliding against your cheek before it carded through your hair.

“If you tell any of the crew, I'll hook ye.” His voice was gravelly and strained.

“Don’t tempt me.” Your flirt fell flat, voice shaking too much. 

Harry smirked, pulling his hook from your hair, and you were alone in your room. 

You collapsed on your bed, unable to stop your trembles or your labored breathing.

You just made out with Harry Hook. You just  _ dominated  _ Harry Hook. 

You smirked. A silent war had been waged, but you weren't sure that losing it would be all that terrible. 


End file.
